Sunday, 20 May 2018

Best Served Cold

Revenge is the name of the game here - and Chuck has told us to play it any way we want to. Thought my story was going to be plain and simple... well, that's how it started out.

enjoy.

It was going to plan... everything was.

I was where I was supposed to be – on the
roof waiting for back-up – and the rest of the group were going to ‘put to
sleep’ the guards at the main gates and surrounding building.

This was until it all went wrong.

The plan?

Nah, you’ll think I’m being (jealous,
childish, horrible...) ....

Revenge.

Yep, that’s it... it’s revenge.

My life was going well.

I had the house, the wife, the two children,
the car... I was what my Mum and Dad wanted – and expected – of me.

I worked my arse off and got where I wanted
to be – needed to be – in life to make a good life for us. I put my children
into the right schools, lived in the right suburb, knew the right people,
socialised in the right circles, attended a wine club, went to squash once a
fortnight at my local gym, joined the country club and got into the right back
pockets of all the right people to get a foothold into the job I wanted where I
was... besides, my boss had made sure I got into the country club.

How was I to know that country club was
owned by criminals? It looked like it was on the up-and-up – it really did, but
then, most places which look like they’re legal, aren’t.

This is how revenge came into play.

I arrived home one evening to find my front
door kicked in, my wife sitting at the kitchen table and my kids were gone. She
looked as though the men who were standing around her had smacked her around.

“Honey?” I put down my bag in a nearby
chair, which normally she’d yell at me about, but this time, she just cried, “What’s
going on.”

“You’re the new one, right?” one of the
beefier men asked from the fridge, poking around in it for something to eat or
drink, “Dontcha have any beer?”

“We don’t drink alcohol.” I said, “What’s
going on here?”

He turned from the fridge, slammed the door
and opened a small bottle of Mountain Dew, and guzzled it down in one
or two gulps, belched and left it on the counter, “Well, aren’t you demanding?”

“You’re in my house, beat up my wife, and
... where are the kids?” I looked around, straining to hear for the laughter
from upstairs of my two children.

I almost stopped breathing as I watched my
beautiful wife crumble, tears streaking her face as she shook in the dining
room chair. Touching her hand gently, she jumped and I knew they had done
something horrible to her, and cast all three men a baleful look: “Tell me what
you have done to my children. I have a fair idea what you’ve done to my wife.”

“One thing at a time, sport-o.” The beef-cake
smirked, “Now, you’re kids are fine, so long you follow the rules.”

“Which are?”

“We make them and you’ll follow them as they
happen.”

Well, the rules changed from day to day. My
wife disappeared and the cops didn’t want to know about what was happening. So,
I had to do the rescuing myself.

I quit my job, disappeared from the area I
lived in, cashed everything I owned and joined a vigilante group and trained up
to the point where I could get in and out of a building without attracting
attention to myself. The guys were ready to help me after a few jobs were
successful with me in the team – and they knew I was there for a reason.

We were all there for our own personal
reasons – and each of us were mainly there to either rescue somebody, avenge a
death, or needed a cause to make our dark lives meaningful. When they heard
mine, they knew they had to help me get my wife and my children back – and if
my family was gone? Well, at least I’d know and not be left in the dark.

Gunshots popped and people shouted.

A siren slowly started going off as lights
swung around the compound.

I stayed put on the ruin of the building on
the outskirts of the place, waiting for the signal – so far, this was not it.

Then I saw it!

The hot pink streak of a flare shot high and
bright into the night and exploded into a single fireworks display!

I don’t remember exactly my movements – I normally
don’t – as I fought my way towards the compound to find a vehicle, the guys I
was in with and – finally – my family.

But this isn’t how it worked out.

“Your lawyer’s here.”

I turned around from the small window
overlooking the grey day outside, “Okay.”

“Are you going to behave yourself or do we
have to cuff you?” the screw asked.

“I’ll be okay.” I nodded.

The door unlocked, slid opened loudly and he
let me out of my holding cell.

I wasn’t in prison, I was the compound’s
holding cell.

He led me to a room where I saw my wife
standing behind the lawyer without a scratch on her. The bruises she had on her
a few months back would have left scars, but she didn’t have any.

I tried not to show that I noticed this, but
it was hard.

“Sit.” The screw pushed me into a metal
chair.

The lawyer who sat across from me was my
boss, “What happened to you?”

“Everything went sideways. I had the perfect
life, worked for you and joined that damned country club, and then suddenly
everything screwed up and now you’re asking me what happened to me?” I glared
at him.

He sat back smiling, “You don’t understand.”

“Where are my children?” I looked up at my
wife, “And she was so beaten up, it would have left scars.”

“This is all a game. And the rules are
complex, jack... so the sooner you catch on, the better.” He snapped.

“And the name of this game is?”

“Revenge... now, this is your wife... trust
me, she’s been in hiding. But now, there’s a completely different lot of rules
to finding your kids.”

I leaned across the table, “And the next lot
of revenge?”

A grin spread across his face slowly, “...
is best served ice bloody cold, my friend.”

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About Me

I'm a writer.
I'm a reader.
I'm a collector of books and other things as well.
People say I'm interesting, but I think I'm just an average person looking out into a strange old world with my own ideas of what's going on.
There's other blogs I manage as well... go and have a look and see them if you dare.

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